Lively Morrison Sets Mood at Masonic Mercurial bluesman hot in first of six shows Neva Chonin, Chronicle Staff Critic Saturday, January 23, 1999 ©1999 San Francisco Chronicle URL: http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/chronicle/archive/1999/01/23/DD65902.DTL&type=music <Picture> The most revealing moment of Van Morrison's opening-night concert at San Francisco's Masonic Auditorium came after his set. While a full house stamped its collective feet for an encore, Sam Butera and his swing combo, the evening's supporting act, took the stage. Then Morrison reappeared. ``And now,'' he announced, grinning, ``for something completely different.'' With that, he and Butera swung into a scorching ``Jump, Jive and Wail.'' An astonished crowd watched its notoriously moody star transform into a laughing, loose-limbed bandleader who little resembled the terse, if impressive, performer whose 90- minute set had left them cheering themselves hoarse. Morrison growled; he yelped; he snapped his fingers and shimmied. And then he bounced off the stage to leave the rest of the night to Butera. Not your typical Van Morrison moment -- but then, there probably isn't a typical Van Morrison moment. After 30 years in the music business and about as many albums, the veteran singer-songwriter has earned a reputation for the unexpected. Thursday's concert was the first of six that Morrison, who shared larger stages with Bob Dylan last summer, is playing in San Francisco this week (including a final Masonic show tonight followed by another sold-out trio at Bimbo's Monday-Wednesday), and if it was a gauge of what's to come, his Bay Area fans are in for a fascinating marathon. Wearing his usual uniform of rumpled black suit, cap and sunglasses, Morrison offered a study in fascinating tics, from the ever-flicking fingers of his left hand to the creaky, rhythmic pumping of his right arm. At times he resembled a baseball coach delivering signals to his attentive 10-piece band. Though he presented the grim mien and stiff bearing of a truculent rooster, the man's famous voice, with its blues phrasings and ruminative murmurs, was in fine, fluid form. On ``Rough God Goes Riding,'' he topped his visceral delivery with a spoken-word vignette illustrating the song's ``no more heroes'' refrain: Clint Eastwood ``moseying along'' through a wrecked town, looking mighty cool in the midst of chaos. Crowd favorites such as ``Moondance,'' ``The Healing Game'' and ``Vanlose Stairway'' soared, as Morrison and band jammed, soloed and traded jazzy instrumental and vocal riffs. The evening's real corker -- at least until Butera took the stage --came with ``Summertime in England.'' Morrison and his saxophone player sparred in an extended call- and-response duet between voice and horn, then united into a gospel- drenched crescendo that brought the house down. It was a tour de force of unfeigned spontaneity, and that, after all, is what Morrison --cranky or joyful -- does best.
